


Leaving It Up To You

by sunflower_beatles



Category: George Ezra - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Fluff, George Ezra - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, tw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-05-28 18:39:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15055319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflower_beatles/pseuds/sunflower_beatles
Summary: When George Ezra and Ivy meet at a local festival and fall in love, it drives a stake between Ivy and her best friend Alex.TW: SELF HARM MENTIONS (NOT TOO GRAPHIC)





	1. Chapter 1

*Ivy’s POV*

“Alex, come ~on~!” I gesture to my friend. He heaves, struggling to keep up with me. The neon signs and smell of greasy food grow nearer as we run towards the festival. It’s about 7:00 and the sun is setting, casting a lovely orange light over everything. 

“Alex!” He’s tripped and skinned his knee on the rocky ground.

“M’ okay,” he says, pushing himself up and continuing to run. I notice a dribble of blood trickling down his leg. Alex sees me looking. “Ivy, I’m fine, really.”

I twist my face into a concerned expression and then we reach the entrance. The blazing lights, live music, and loud crowds are just how I like to spend my Friday evenings. It keeps me in touch with the side of me that radiates raw electric power. And who better to spend a self-collection moment with than my best friend?

I pause once I get our tickets. “C’mon, let’s go over to the first aid tent and get a bandage on that knee.”

“Ivy, I said I’m-“

But I grab him by the arm and drag him over. A tall boy with a guitar slung on his back stands in front of the area. We can’t get around him, so I tap him on the shoulder and say, “Excuse me?” 

He turns around. The boy has dark blue eyes and a scar on his forehead just above his eyebrow. His face flushes. “I- I’m sorry, I was just finishing up.” He gestures to the tape he’s wrapping on his fingers. 

“Oh, it’s alright!” I say. I gesture to Alex’s knee. “He just needs some fixing up.”

The boy nods and gathers up the roll of medical tape. “Well, see you,” he says awkwardly, his body language showing he’s flustered. I smile at him and he hurries away in the direction of the stage. As he leaves I notice a blister peeking out underneath the bandaging and figure he must’ve played that guitar too hard. But he’s cute, the way his face turned bright red with embarrassment, and how he pushes back his dirty blonde hair out of his eyes.  
ENDED OFF HERE  
Alex gets a bandage stuck on his knee, against his will of course. I take him, grumbling, to play some arcade games. I’m delighted when I find that there’s a vintage Pac-Man game, directly from the 1980s. I rush over, and Alex and I take turns playing for forty-five minutes. 

Reality comes rushing back as we beat the system’s high score. I jump up and down, squealing, and hug him. He seems surprised but hugs back with a big grin on his face.

“Anyone who wants to come see the live music, featuring up-and-coming local artist George Ezra, it starts at 8 over by the stage!” The announcement booms through the area. I turn to Alex. 

“How ‘bout it, hm?” He shrugs, his way of saying he doesn’t care either way, and we make our way over to the outdoor stage where a few people have already started gathering. I manage to get us a spot right in the front, a bit off to the left. It’s way past sunset now, but the air is warm, and moths flutter up by the intensely bright floodlights. There are no seats, so I stand, my bare arms resting on the edge of the raised stage. 

A few minutes later, the performers walks up from behind. The band gets ready to begin, and the lights appear on the singer at the microphone. I recognize him as the blonde boy who had been flustered at the first aid stand. He has the guitar slung around his shoulders and I notice the medical tape on his left hand. He counts off and the band launches into a cheery number. I bop along with the beat, Alex by my side doing the same. 

Suddenly the boy looks down at me, and his guitar playing falters, setting the whole song off track. He blushes bright red from embarrassment, and signals the band to stop. He takes a few deep breaths and closes his dark blue eyes.

*George’s POV*

God, I’m so embarrassed. I let myself get distracted by her. That’s never happened before. I’m awful.

But I can’t just let a girl like that slip out from under my fingers.

I have to make a move. She’s incredible.

The only problem is my confidence. I have a really tough time talking to… anyone, really, without my heart beating like crazy and my palms sweating and my knees knocking. I’ve tried every method, healthy and unhealthy, to try and better this, but nothing works. And sometimes I even break down crying at night over the stupidest little things like a word I’d misspoken earlier that day. I hate myself for my anxiety.

And now I remember where I am! On stage in front of at least fifty eager people waiting to hear my music. 

“Sorry about that, lads, I miscounted a bit there,” I say into the microphone, trying to play it cool. The girl smiles at me, the creamy skin of her arms and shoulders glowing under the floodlights, her mouth shining slightly with lip gloss. My heart flutters. “I’ll be starting again, now.”

I try and take my mind off of her by playing, and I concentrate on the movements of my fingers on the guitar strings. But she never leaves my mind. I need to know her. Even if she’s gay or even if she rejects me, it’d be an honor.

When I finally finish my performance, which feels like years later but what is really only half an hour, my drummer gets up in my face backstage. “What happened, Ezra?” There’s an angry glint in his eye.

“I just miscounted, that’s all,” I say, slinging my guitar around onto my back.

He shoves me. “GODDAMNIT EZRA! GET IT TOGETHER, MAN!”

“Whoa, whoa, guys!” My keyboardist puts himself in between us. “What’s the matter with you?”

“He-” I begin, but I’m cut off.

“George here can’t bloody remember how to count to the beat of our first song!” my drummer shouts.

“Okay, so maybe he needs a bit more practice. But you can’t just go yelling and shoving him for stumbling up! Mistakes happen.”

“Yeah, like George!”

And suddenly my drummer is laying on the ground bleeding and my wrist is smarting, one of my knuckles split. I can hear my pulse in my head as I storm off.


	2. Chapter 2

*Ivy’s POV*

As soon as the crowd disperses Alex and I head back to the Pac-Man machine, only to find it’s been occupied by two teenage girls with loud obnoxious voices. We exchange a look and silently agree that food is our best option right now. Alex spots a vendor booth that’s selling hot dogs, so he buys two.

“What’d you think of the music, hm?” I ask him, biting into my meal.

“It was good, y’know, I’ve heard better, but it wasn’t bad,” he says. “What about you?”

 

“I thought it was amazing,” I say. He’s quiet for a moment, concentrating.

“That mishap at the beginning was peculiar, though.” He crams the rest of the hot dog in his mouth.

I pause, remembering it. The singer had looked at me and only seconds later faltered. 

“Yeah, it was weird.”

 

Suddenly I hear some shouting. It sounds like someone’s really angry backstage.

“Hey, Alex, you wanna head over there to the games? I’ll be right back,” I say, patting his shoulder.

He hears the shouting as well and understands. I walk towards the stage, curious, downing the last bite of my hot dog and then popping a piece of bubblegum in my mouth.

I’m about to enter the backstage area when a man in all black walks over to me, blocking my way. “This is a restricted area, miss,” he says.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I just heard some yelling and I was wondering if everything’s okay,” I say, batting my eyelashes a bit for effect.

But he’s not fazed. “Yes, miss, everything’s alright. Don’t you worry.” He nods in the direction of where I came from. “Bye, now.”

I take the hint and walk away, deciding that it’s nothing. But as I’m about to walk back over to Alex, I see something. Someone running up the hill behind the festival. Their body language shows they’re upset.

I make the split second decision to run after them, thinking it maybe has to do with the shouting I heard. I try to make my footsteps quiet so the person can’t hear me coming. I watch from behind a shadowed wall for a moment as they sit down on top of the hill and begin strumming a guitar after a few minutes. I recognize the style as that of the singer who played onstage just moments ago. The music that floats down is barely audible over the noise of the festival, but it’s beautiful all the same. Suddenly my feet are moving towards the sounds, up the hill. And then I’m standing in just behind the person.

“Um, hi,” I say, a bit awkwardly.

“Oh!” he jumps. “God, I nearly leaped out of my skin-” He pauses. “Hi.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” I say, smiling, recognizing him as the boy from the stage. “Can I join you?”

He gulps audibly and nods. I sit down next to him on the grass.

*George’s POV*

“So, what’s your name?” she asks me.

“Um, George. George Ezra.” I mentally hit myself for being so awkward.

“Oh, I love that name,” she says. Her voice is so beautiful. “I’m Ivy.”

I smile to myself in the darkness. “It’s nice to meet you, Ivy,” I say, sticking out my hand.

Ivy shakes it. Her fingers are warm and thin against my big palm. “You too,” she says.

There’s silence for a moment. Then she lays down on the grass, looking up at the sky. When she puts her arms under her head, her top lifts up, and I can see a strip of the soft pale skin of her tummy. “Lay down with me, hm?” she asks. 

So I do. And I find that the stars look even more amazing than they do when I sit up straight. I can smell her shampoo in the long smooth hair that tumbles out onto the grass.

“I saw you playing tonight,” Ivy says. My anxiety immediately skyrockets, even though I already knew that. 

“Oh, uh, thanks for coming,” I say.

“Of course! I thought you were amazing, even with the little mishap at the start.”

Relief floods my body. She doesn’t think I’m a bad performer.

“Thank you very much,” I say politely. 

She’s silent again, gazing up at the stars. I find myself staring at her, soaking in her beauty. She’s the type of girl that doesn’t try to be beautiful, but she is anyways. The type of girl whose soul is so deep and intricate it’d take a million lifetimes to totally figure out her amazing ways. I get an odd warm feeling in my chest and it radiates throughout my whole body from the sight of her admiring the cosmos.

“You know anything else on that guitar of yours?” Her voice startles me back to reality.

“Um, I write all my songs myself, but I know some Beatles tunes,” I say, praying silently that she likes the Beatles.

“Ooh, awesome,” Ivy says. “How ‘bout you play one for us?”

I gulp. “Sure, which one do you want to hear?”

“Surprise me,” she says, smiling and turning her head to look at me. 

“Alright then,” I say, sitting up and picking up my guitar from where it lay on the grass. I decide to sing ‘Till There Was You’, one of the first songs I ever learnt on guitar. I slide the strap over my head and start singing.

~There were birds in the sky  
But I never saw them winging  
No, I never saw them at all  
Till there was you

Then there was music and wonderful roses  
They tell me in sweet fragrant meadows  
Of dawn and dew

There was love all around  
But I never heard it singing  
No, I never heard it at all  
Till there was you…~

My voice trails off. I turn my head to look at her, to see her reaction, and come right face-to-face with her. “Sorry uh… that was incredible,” she murmurs.

My face heats up. “Thanks,” I whisper.

Suddenly she leans forward very slowly and softly presses her lips on mine. The kiss is short, and when she pulls back she smiles and pulls a Sharpie out of her back pocket. She scribbles her number on my arm. “Text me,” she whispers, her breath warm on my ear, and with that she stands up and leaves me to my shock that she just kissed me.

*Ivy’s POV*

I walk away from him, down the hill, smiling to myself. Twirling a strand of hair on my finger. George Ezra. He really is a quirky, shy boy, but I definitely like him.

I can see Alex walking away from where I’d hid to watch George. “Hey, Alex!” I say. He speeds up. “Alex!”

He stops and turns around. “Oh, hey, Ivy. What took you so long?” There’s a hint of something in his voice, but I can’t tell what it is.

“I was just checking out that shouting I’d heard, why?”

“Just wondering,” he says quickly. “Listen, it’s getting late, we should go.”

“Alex, it’s hardly even nine-”

“Please, Ivy, let’s just go.” I can see in his eyes that he’s hurt, though I don’t know why.

“Yeah, okay. Let’s go.”


	3. Chapter 3

*George’s POV*

I can’t believe I’m falling for a girl I just met.

I can still taste her lips, still sense the feeling of her touch.

Love is a powerful thing. The attraction that drives you to brush every other thing out of your mind, even if it’s just for a little while; it can make you go crazy or it can be the soundest thing in your life.

And now I feel a song coming on. This often happens when I’m particularly emotional. I pull out the notepad I keep in my back pocket at all times, specifically for moments like this, and begin writing furiously. My songwriting process is totally messy - illegible scribbles which only make sense to me somehow turn into a song. 

I sit on top of that hill under the universe for a good thirty minutes scribbling in my notepad when finally my keyboardist comes up and clears his throat behind me. I jump again for the second time that night.

“Erm, your drummer says he’s sorry for lashing out at you,” he says a bit awkwardly.

“Thanks, mate,” I say. “I’ll be down in just a minute, I- uh, got a sudden burst of inspiration.” I gesture to my notepad. He nods.

“See you in a few, George.” And he turns and leaves, and I’m alone again.

I pocket my notepad and pencil and lay back on the grass. The stars, faded only slightly from the lights of the festival, blink down at me. A grin fills my face as I relive my interaction with Ivy. I hold my arm over my face and read the loopy numbers over and over until they’re ingrained in my memory. Then I stand up and walk back to civilization again, still unable to wipe the smile off my lips.

*Ivy’s POV*

“Alex, are you okay?” I ask him as we walk out to the car. He’s silent, his hands shoved in his pockets, walking stiffly a few feet ahead of me.

“Yes, Ivy, I’m fine,” he says, clearly not fine.

“Alex, you’re acting weird,” I say. “C’mon, tell me what’s up.”

“You really want to know?” he exclaims, spinning around and stopping.

“Yes, I do! Because I care about my friend’s feeli-”

“I saw you kiss him, Ivy. I saw it. I saw everything.” His face is flushed from anger and embarrassment. I’m about to ask why that’s a big deal when he says, “I love you, Ivy.”

I’m silent, stunned. “You do?”

He nods. “I do. I have since that first day I met you in sixth grade geography class. And I’ve kept it hidden, you know why? Because you never showed signs you felt the same way.” His eyes begin to well up with tears. “And lately I started to think maybe I should just give it up and move on, but you keep inviting me to all these festivals and movies and everything and I just thought-” His voice cracks as the tears spill out. “I just thought maybe you loved me too.”

It breaks my heart to see him in such pain. I rush forward and hug him tight. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t know.”

He sniffles and tightens his arms around me. “It’s okay,” he says. “I have no right to be dictating what you do with your love life, and if you just want stay friends with me, that’s okay, and if you hate me now, I understand why.”

I pull back and smile at him sadly. “There was a time I thought I loved you too. Around freshman year in high school. It only lasted a few months, but it was an amazing feeling.” I lean forward and press my lips on his cheek. “I don’t love you now, not like that, and I hope you can understand that. And I could never hate you.” I link my arm is his. “C’mon, let’s take you home.”

*George’s POV*

How long am I supposed to wait before texting a girl? I can’t do it tonight, for sure, because that’ll make me look like I’m trying too hard. And I can’t wait too long, or else she’ll think I’ve forgotten about her, which I could never do because she’s absolutely captivating, and ugh. This is what keeps me up nearly all night tonight. And then I start to wonder if she’s thinking of me, too. Waiting for me to text her. A part of me tells myself that she’s sitting by her phone waiting for my text, but another part says she’s just asleep and that’s insane. Clearly I have a tendency to overthink things. I drift off sometime around 3am and wake up at nine.

Finally I can’t take it anymore, and I send her a text.

george_ezra: Hi, this is George from last night. Yikes, that sentence sounds so douche-y, I’m sorry lol. Anyways, hi Ivy.

She replies within five minutes.

poisonivy57: hi george! meeting you last night was really fun :)

george_ezra: You too!

poisonivy57: do you suppose we could meet up sometime and get to know each other more? :)

My heartbeat picks up. My thumbs fly over the screen, typing a response.

george_ezra: That sounds amazing. How do you like walks in the park?

There’s a … which signals Ivy is typing.

poisonivy57: i adore walks in the park, how did u know?

My flirty side starts to come out of its shell, tentatively.

george_ezra: I had a feeling :) So, how about tonight? Are you busy?

poisonivy57: actually, i’m free tonight!

george_ezra: Great! How about we meet at the park at 4? Sound good?

poisonivy57: that sounds wonderful :) see u then!

I set down the phone and lean back, filled with joy. It’s short-lived, though, as I remember what I just agreed to do. I scramble up and being getting ready for this date.

My closet is torn apart as I scour for the perfect outfit to wear. Alright, mate, It’s nothing fancy, so no button-downs and absolutely no ties! And it’s not a workout session, so for heaven’s sake, George, put down those sweatpants! Ugh, nothing seems right. My outfit will be her first impression of me, the real me. Stage-me wears the same black button-down with the sleeves pushed up and the same black dress pants, but real-life me dresses kind of like a frat boy. I can’t decide if that’s a good thing or not, but I finally settle on a mustard yellow v-neck shirt and gray jeans.

Somehow I make it to 3:45 without totally freaking out. But as I’m walking out of my house and to the park, I begin to shake with the usual pre-date anxiety.


End file.
